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cern it except by the moving of objects on shore. Venice, la belle, appeared to as much disadvantage as a beautiful woman bedraggled in a thunder-storm. Lake Como. We stayed in Venice five days, and during that time saw all the sights that it could enter the head of a valet-de-place to afflict us with. It is an affliction, however, for which there is no remedy, because you want to see the things, and would be very sorry if you went home without having done so. Front Venice we went to Milan to see the cathedral and Leonardo da Vinci's Last supper. The former is superb, and of the latter I am convinced, from the little that remains of it, that it was the greatest picture the world ever saw. We shall run back to Rome for Holy Week, and then to Paris. Rome. From Lake Como we came back here for Holy Week, and now it is over. What do you think of it? Certainly no thoughtful or sensitive person, no person impressible either through the senses or the religious feeling
Charles E. Stowe, Harriet Beecher Stowe compiled from her letters and journals by her son Charles Edward Stowe, Chapter 15: the third trip to Europe, 1859. (search)
Instead of coming to Geneva in one day, I stopped over one night at Macon, got to Geneva the next day about four o'clock, and to Lausanne at eight. Coming up-stairs and opening the door, I found the whole party seated with their books and embroidery about a centretable, and looking as homelike and cosy as possible. You may imagine the greetings, the kissing, laughing, and good times generally. From Lausanne the merry party traveled toward Florence by easy stages, stopping at Lake Como, Milan, Verona, Venice, Genoa, and Leghorn. At Florence, where they arrived early in November, they met Fred Stowe and his friend, Samuel Scoville, and here they were also joined by their Brooklyn friends, the Howards. Thus it was a large and thoroughly congenial party that settled down in the old Italian city to spend the winter. From here Mrs. Stowe wrote weekly letters to her husband in Andover, and among them are the following, that not only throw light upon their mode of life, but illustra
quickly installed in my room, where, after a nice dinner, I curled up for my afternoon nap. At half-past 7 the carriage came for me, and I was informed that I should not have a hard reading, as they had engaged singers to take part. So, when I got into the carriage, who should I find, beshawled, and beflowered, and betoggled in blue satin and white lace, but our old friend of Andover concert memory, now become Madame Thingumbob, of European celebrity. She had studied in Italy, come out in Milan, sung there in opera for a whole winter, and also in Paris and London. Well, she sings very sweetly and looks very nice and pretty. Then we had a little rosebud of a Chelsea girl who sang, and a pianist. I read Minister's Housekeeper and Topsy, and the audience was very jolly and appreciative. Then we all jogged home. The next letter finds Mrs. Stowe in Maine, and writing in the cars between Bangor and Portland. She says:-- My dear husband,--Well, Portland and Bangor are over